Strictly scary? No the judges are pussycats compared to Paxman
As Ed Balls joins the show, ANN WIDDECOMBE’S waspish survival guide
IT’S one of the most unlikely announcements since TV news man John Sergeant donned a glitter suit. But Ed Balls, the Labour Party’s tubby bruiser famous for his laddish clashes in the Commons — until he lost his seat at the last election, is to be one of the stars of the new series of Strictly Come Dancing. So does he know what he’s in for?
Here, another former politician who became an unlikely favourite on the show pens a very waspish open letter . . . THE STRATEGY
The first decision you will have to make, ed, is whether you are actually going to dance — after all, it’s not necessarily a prerequisite for success on the show.
In fact, a big part of my decision to sign up to Strictly in 2010 was having seen John Sergeant stomp across the dancefloor, dragging his partner behind him, and realising you could still survive without having to dance a step, providing you are entertaining.
To dance or not to dance may not have the urgency of to tax or not to tax, but it is nevertheless a strategic decision which will determine your success.
Really, it will be your dance partner who makes the final decision once they’ve got the measure of you.
It took my ‘other half’ Anton du Beke less than two hours to decide that I should give up dancing in favour of entertainment. It was only what I had told him after less than two minutes ...
And while we are on the subject of dance partners, your wife Yvette Cooper can relax, because contrary to popular belief it is neither mandatory nor inevitable to fall in love with the poor soul who has to spin, drag and fly you round the floor week after week.
THE COSTUMES
You will have a veto. I used mine twice, once when they produced a large black shawl that made me look like an advertisement for Scottish Widows.
On the other occasion Anton suggested we appear in Blackpool in Priscilla, Queen of The Desert costumes. Fortunately, I had the wit to look up the story — about two drag queens! — before the sewing machines started whirring.
Only wear what you feel comfortable with, and the same applies to the dance moves: don’t do something just because it is expected. You do not have to take your shirt off any more than I had to perform some of the moves that were riddled with sexual innuendo. The rumba might be the dance of love, I harrumphed, but that did not make it the dance of fornication.
Throughout, I refused hairpieces and false eyelashes, but I don’t suppose they will offer you those (though you never know). The principle, however, holds true: if it is likely to fall off, don’t wear it.
THE DANCES
When it comes to the actual dances, ed, you will find there are two sorts, ballroom and Latin, and they pose very different challenges.
Ballroom allows you to rely entirely on your partner who can push and pull you through the correct routine. You will discover she is a ventriloquist who can mutter instructions to you while seemingly not moving her lips at all.
The Latin routines could not be more different. She will be compelled to let you go and hope you will do the right thing while out of her clutches.
That was why Anton and I played the ballroom straight and the Latin for laughs, for once I left his arms he had no idea what might have happened by the time I returned.
I do not know whether you fancy yourself as a matador, but you will love the paso doble anyway. It is the amateur’s dream, for there is a step in it called the appel which is when you stamp at a complete stop. It actually gives you space to get back on the right foot.
Once I had discovered this, I asked Anton to build one into every dance, so we must be the only couple in dancing history to do an appel in the middle of the American smooth.
THE JUDGES
You probably don’t need much advice from me on dealing with the judges. Just treat them as you would the opposition in the house of Commons.
They love having politicians with whom to joust, because we don’t burst into tears and talk about our ‘ Strictly journeys’. Rather, we are just rude back.
As I was the first politician they’d had on the show, they really went to town with the insults, calling me a dalek in drag, a dancing hippo and the aircraft carrier Ark Royal. Len Goodman excelled himself when he compared us to haemorrhoids, saying that we always came back and it was always more painful than the last time.
The audience loves it when contestants give as good as they get with Craig Revel horwood, who tries to employ the same strategy as Jeremy Paxman.
As you will know, Jeremy goes less for the verbal interruption than for the incredulous expression — the one that says: ‘Is he really talking all this rot?’
I quickly learned that when being interviewed by Jeremy the best strategy was to address his tie rather than look at his face.
Craig tries the same ploy: he looks incredulous and unsmiling, heralding the ‘oMG’ before he speaks.
Ah, but he is not as good at it as Jeremy and it is quite possible to make him smile when he would rather not. his weakness is that he is actually a nice chap and the nasty judge bit is all an act.
Don’t be rude to Darcey Bussell though, because otherwise you will sound like a bully. Listen to Len, who really knows what he is talking about.
As for Bruno Tonioli, I should try a Paxmanesque expression, because even the audience is thinking ‘is he really serious?’ and the answer is of course: no.
THE PUBLIC
One of the most reassuring aspects of the programme is that you do not have to please the judges, only the public.
Anton and I were regularly bottom of the leader board but were not eliminated until the tenth week because the public didn’t want to see us go. It is the viewing audience that keeps you in or sends you home.
Well, when you were a politician, ed, you persuaded people to vote for you on the basis of what they could expect from you, so follow the same principle. If they think they will merely be bored, then off they will send you.
Remember, most people will warm to those who can laugh at themselves. Can you do that? I never saw you do it in the house of Commons but the Treasury isn’t exactly a bundle of laughs, especially under a Labour government when you sit there and watch the coffers emptying.
So perhaps now we will see some humour. Believe me, if you can’t do the footwork, it is the only thing that can save you.
THE OTHER CONTESTANTS
THIS is where Strictly and politics part company. You must not rubbish your opponents or backbite in the green room.
Instead, you smile till your face aches, clap till your hands hurt and say how wonderful they all are and how they are so much better than you could ever hope to be. You admire their costumes, their dance routines and their hairstyles.
OK, I did demur a bit when the girls wore next to nothing in some of the dances.
‘Are you cold?’ I would ask the eastenders actress Kara Tointon in the tone of an anxious nanny, or in the same voice in which I ask my nieces and nephews if they know they have holes in their jeans, and upon being told they are fashionably deliberate, ask why anybody would pay to wear ripped clothing.
THE AFTERMATH
IF You make any impact at all on Strictly, then it is just the beginning of a whole new adventure.
In my case, the live tour was followed by an appearance at
the royal opera House (spoken role, of course), my own quiz show and pantomime, first with Craig revel Horwood and then Basil Brush.
Worried about never being taken seriously again? Don’t be. The instant you start arguing politics, people respond in exactly the same way as they did before, as I found out in the Brexit referendum when I made my first serious foray back into politics.
Just enjoy the new life, the frivolity, the release from serious responsibility, the public response and the laughter.
After years of knowing that every decision you took could affect people for good or ill, it is liberating to find out that the only harm you can do is to your partner’s shins. You still have decades of life left in which to choose to be light-hearted or deadly serious.
And spreading a little happiness — even if it’s at your own expense — brings its own rewards. When people ask me why I do pantomime my response is always ‘because for five weeks all I hear is the sound of kids laughing’.
You would make a great Big Bad Giant, Ed.